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Rupert Brooke - Finding
Work rating: Low

From the candles and dumb shadows,
 And the house where love had died,
I stole to the vast moonlight
 And the whispering life outside.
But I found no lips of comfort,
 No home in the moon`s light
(I, little and lone and frightened
 In the unfriendly night),
And no meaning in the voices. . . .
 Far over the lands and through
The dark, beyond the ocean,
 I willed to think of YOU!
For I knew, had you been with me
 I`d have known the words of night,
Found peace of heart, gone gladly
 In comfort of that light.

Oh! the wind with soft beguiling
 Would have stolen my thought away;
And the night, subtly smiling,
 Came by the silver way;
And the moon came down and danced to me,
 And her robe was white and flying;
And trees bent their heads to me
 Mysteriously crying;
And dead voices wept around me;
 And dead soft fingers thrilled;
And the little gods whispered. . . .
                                      But ever
 Desperately I willed;
Till all grew soft and far
 And silent . . .
                   And suddenly
I found you white and radiant,
 Sleeping quietly,
Far out through the tides of darkness.
 And I there in that great light
Was alone no more, nor fearful;
 For there, in the homely night,
Was no thought else that mattered,
 And nothing else was true,
But the white fire of moonlight,
 And a white dream of you.
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